


A Night Out

by NDKiwi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oh god why!?!?, What was I thinkning?!?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NDKiwi/pseuds/NDKiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is sick of Sherlocks ravings that he is bored.  He decides he needs a night out at a new club in town.  Sherlock, suprisingly, agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an RP between me and my friend Lulu. It is UNBETA'd so please forgive editing mistakes...if you see some message me and i Will fix them. Lulu is unable to continue on with me on this, so If anyone is interested in taking over the role of Sherlock in this, Let me know! CHapters will all be short.

"Tell me what you need me to do Sherlock! I can't read your fucking mind!" Johns temper was evident as he threw his arms in the air and looked across the room from his chair at his juvenile flatmate.

Two and a half weeks without a case. It was unheard of, did the criminal network go on holiday to spite him? What was worst was the fact John refused to let him smoke or indulge in less-than-legal narcotics. He needed a stimulant, anything. Sherlock growled, tossing a small cushion at the other man in retaliation before getting to his feet. "I don't bloody know! Commit a murder, or crime and for god's sake be interesting about it. I'm losing my damned mind. I need stimulants, John! Something- anything. It has been two and a half weeks, it's ridiculous. And if you're not going to make yourself useful you could at least tell me where you hid the bloody cigarettes."

John huffed in frustration as Sherlocks' anger and boredom rolled off him. He didn’t know how long he could handle this. Maybe he could go kip on Sarah's sofa again tonight.  
"I will not go out and commit a bloody murder for you Sherlock. There isn't much i wouldn't do to stop your insufferable brain from rotting and taking me down with it, but that is where I draw the line." John picked the union jack cushion up off the floor and tossed it back on the couch. He moved towards the kitchen, a nice cuppa on his mind. 

"Then what would you do, then? I'm at the end of my rope- I need something, anything. I have all this built up tension and energy that I don't know what to bloody well do with it." Running his fingers through his hair as he paced, his housecoat swishing around his legs angrily. "What do ordinary people, in their ordinary lives do when they're bored out of their skull. You won't even play board games with me- you won't even try monopoly. The telly is no good either." Moving he eases down, sitting on the back of his chair, toes curling against the seat. "I think this might kill me."

John pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand. It was going to be a long night if he didn't think of something to distract his irritating friend. Sherlock needed distraction. How would he do that? All other attempts to distract him failed. Games, no. Telly, no. Teaching him to cook, ("it's just like chemistry Sherlock!| "BORING") NO. John had suggested a movie, a walk, a vacation, hell he had even suggested that Sherlock needed to hire a call girl and get laid ("Not my area, John!" "Oh yeah, just 'Transport', i forgot."). He only had one idea left. Well that wasn’t true. He had several, but only one that wasn’t lascivious or illegal. He decided to throw caution to the wind. He turned around and faced Sherlock, his arms crossed.  
"Well, if you are so bored, why don't we go to a club? I can drink to drown out your irritating ramblings and you can people watch and deduce and catalog information in your overcompensation of a mind palace to use on future cases." John hope he would agree to go. He needed a drink and he had to admit, seeing Sherlock at a club could be interesting. "So, what do you think?"


	2. Chapter 2

He found the idea to be nonsensical and a waste of time, and he nearly said so. But... ah. Clubs were notorious for sketchy folk selling sketchy things, perhaps he could slip away from John while he was having a drink and settle his mind in a way he was accustomed to. Or have a drink himself, he hadn't decided yet. So he takes a moment to think it over before finally nodding. "What sort of club?" His tone rather amiable as he got to his feet, brushing himself off. "I suppose it doesn't matter," he only asked so he could dress accordingly, but his usual attire always done the job. "Ring us a cab, I'll be down shortly, I need to get dressed." It was quite the change of mood, as he brushed passed his flatmate to go to his room and get ready.

 

It took John a minute to realize that Sherlock had actually agreed. He shook his head and shouted towards Sherlocks' room.  
"Fallen Angel. We are going to Fallen Angel." He pulled out his phone and rang for a cab to come in about half an hour. He dashed into the bathroom and took a quick shower, while mentally preparing himself. Why had he chosen that club? Now it meant he had to actually think about what he was going to wear. No jumpers to make him feel safe. As he toweled his hair, towel hung around his hips, he contemplated what he had in his wardrobe that would work.   
Maybe I can find someone to talk to. Maybe a bit more than talking. He smirked. He pulled out a bottle of hair gel from his bag. He didn't generally use much product in his hair, but he was due for a haircut soon, so he actually had the chance to try spiking it up a bit. He shaved quickly and splashed a bit of cologne on that he saved for dates. He knew it was nice but normally he didn't care or have anyone to impress. He stepped out of the loo and headed to his room, tugging his dresser open. He pulled a pair of red underpants out of the drawer and his lips curled at the edge remembering when and why he had gotten them. He had been dared by some mates in the service and ever since he got them, every time he wore them, he got lucky. He wasn't called three continents Watson for nothing!   
He went over to his closet and dug way in the back, looking for and eventually finding the trousers he kept way back there for rare occasions such as this. He was so happy that he stayed fit by chasing after Sherlock or they would not have still fit. He slipped on the pitch black jeans. They were still snug in all the right places and hung low on his hips, a hint of red peeking out above them. They had cost a small fortune back in the day, and probably would be more now. They were artfully faded, worn, and torn in all the best spots. He tightened his belt and fastened it, mentally cataloging what shirts he had. He decided that today was an emerald sort of day and pulled his well-worn v-neck from its hanger. It hugged his body like a lover, the hem falling just barely below his belt line. He walked over to his mirror to appreciate the view. He smiled at himself and reached down to take his polished dog tags from the box that held them on the nightstand, slipping them over his head and letting them fall cool and heavy on his chest. As he sat down on the end of his bed to slip his leather boots on, he wondered why he felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach.  
I’m not going on a date. Why the hell am I so worried...no...excited? Why am I putting so much effort into this when we will probably stay for five minutes before Sherlock gets bored or gets them kicked out, or both?   
John didn't want to over think it so he shook his head and stood, heading towards the living room, his focus on the watch he was fastening on his wrist. He heard a horn honk on the street, signaling the cab had arrived. He called out, still not looking up.   
"Cabs here Sherlock. Get a move on!" He looked up finally and he was left breathless at the sight in front of him.


	3. Chapter 3

The name did nothing for him, he already knew how he wanted to present himself; Sherlock always had an air of class about him, dressing to the nines wherever he went, and this club would be no exception. It helped him attract both the wrong and right attention, which was perfect for an evening such as this, where he needed something- anything to stimulate himself. He chose a pair of fitted trousers, tailored to his exact proportions, much nicer and tighter than his usual. They were black as night, with dark pinstripes, which made his legs look longer. He wore a silk, crimson shirt, tantalizingly tight- buttons begging to be released, so he left the first two open, exposing more of his long pale neck than usual. He put together the look with a rarely used waistcoat, as dark as his trousers and matching the pinstripes. It was classy yet not overly so, everything fit him to a T and he pulled the look together- the dark tones showing off the allure of his pale skin, his clear blue eyes striking. He tousled his dark curls just a bit, and he heard the cab and- ah, there was John. Slipping on shiny black leather shoes he went to meet him downstairs.  
He tilted his head slightly, adjusting himself to John's appearance. Clearly the man had dressed to impress, perhaps hoping to get some intimate attention. A smirk tugs at his lips, moving passed him to get the door, opening it for him. "After you." Tone amused, yet... low.

“uh...umm...yeah...right...ta.” John stammered, casting his eyes down and heading through the door that Sherlock was holding open. What the hell was that? How does he look like he just fell out of an Armani brochure with no work? Damn, its too bad for everyone at the club that he considers his body to be only transport. Looking that good...wait...stop...this is Sherlock you are thinking about. Your flatmate. A MAN!  
Johns internal dialogue was racing as he tried to think of other things. He got into the cab and sat down, Sherlock coming to sit next to him. John noted that Sherlock was also wearing cologne. It wasn’t strong. It just heightened his natural scent. It was a bit dizzying in the enclosed car. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head, shutting his eyes. When he opened them, he found Sherlock looking at him quizzically.   
“So,” Johns voice cracked like a teenager. He cleared his throat and started over, seeing the smirk flitting on Sherlocks' lips and a crinkle around his eyes. “So, have you ever been to Fallen Angel before? Or any club for that matter? Not for a case I mean, for pleasure.” At the last word, Johns voice lilted up questioningly.

Getting comfortable in the cab, crossing his long legs elegantly, tapping his kneecap idly. John's strange behaviour had piqued his interest considerably. At the question he let out a low chuckle, "our definitions of... pleasure vary, John." Mused as he plucked a piece of lint from his trousers. "Yes I've been to clubs, several actually, and often. Not to this one, no. When I went club hopping it was for the chemical pleasures never the... physical." Leaning back slightly, looking out the cab window. "The kinds of pleasures you're looking for tonight, I assume. Given your state of dress, the care you took." Grinning a bit, briefly. "How long has it been since you've last stepped into a club, John?" Offering the man a side glance.

“A fair bit.” John answered truthfully. “It was before Afghanistan. I mean I went out there but not to a proper club. They have never really been my preference. Im more at home in the local pub.” John knew his ears where red. Of course Sherlock had known that he was looking for some physical release, I mean he probably knew how often John wanked in the shower and the average length of time it took. But wait, was that a compliment hidden in there? No way to know, but for some odd reason he hoped so.  
“If I didn’t know better, Sherlock, I would say you were looking for the same thing, given YOUR state of dress. And don’t think I am going to take my eyes off you long enough for you to sneak off and get a hit. I am not as dim witted as you may think sometimes.”   
John turned to look out the window at the passing buildings. They were getting close now. The cab pulled up the kerb a few minutes later. John reached for his wallet to pay the cabbie, but was struck dumb to see Sherlock handing the driver a wad of bills from his own hand. It was going to be an interesting time if the ride over had been any indication.


	4. Chapter 4

The building in front of them was older and nondescript. A whitewashed brick exterior with one small sign identifying its name. On the sign was simply a heart sporting black and crimson wings and devil horns. It was not as garish as the neon signs John had seen at other clubs. This was clearly more posh. There was actually a purple velvet roped line queued up down the street filled with eager party goers trying to talk the doorman and bouncer into letting them in. John's face fell.  
“Well, I was told this place was popular by my patient but it looks as if we are not going to be able to get in until next July! We can try another place if you prefer or just head home I guess.” the disappointment was evident in his voice. He turned back to find Sherlock taking him by the elbow and walking right up to the doorman, who was standing there with a list of names. He looked up at them as they approached, eying them wearily.  
“If your not on the list, you don't get in. I don't bloody well care if you are the duke of Chestershire or if your dying and your last wish is to spend your last hours dancing with your boyfriend here. No name, no enter.”  
Before the familiar, though seldom still used mantra of “I'm not gay” or “I'm not his date” could leave his lips, Sherlock was speaking.  
"Sex does not interest me, John. Not normally." Mused absently. Oh, he entertained the idea from time to time, and he only had enough experience to flirt and toy with someone to get what he wanted, nothing more. He always wondered, however, what it must be like... to let someone take over, and to lose himself in pleasures of the flesh. What it felt like. His thoughts are interrupted, however, as they pull up. "My dear Watson, how will you find yourself a dull woman to pleasure for the rest of the evening if your eyes are on me? I'll behave." Chuckled as they got out of the cab. Ah... he has been here before, several times, the name was a blur until now. Guiding John to the bouncer, he smirked a bit. "Come now, Frank. It hasn't been that long, has it? Or has three years really dulled your mind so. Check under Holmes, I believe the owner's promise of 'lifetime admittance' still stands? If not perhaps I should remind him of the several accounts of fraud I saved him from."  
The bouncer's eyes widened in recognition, and he let out a hearty chuckle, "oh it still stands, Mr Holmes! Right this way, you and your boyfriend have a good night, hear?" Sherlock just flashed the man a smile and a nod as he guided John in. Ah... the club scene, surprisingly it called to him. "It seems I have not been entirely honest with you, John." Leaning in, lips close to his ear so he can be heard over the music, breath hot against the other man's neck, "I've been here before. I hope you enjoy your free drinks tonight, doctor." Tone a near purr before he's pulling back. "Shall we have a drink then?"


	5. Chapter 5

John didn't think much could still surprise him about Sherlock. He wasn’t surprised that he had been here before, nor that he had forgotten it. Not when he knew what he had done at places such as this. He also wasn't surprised that he was known here and was given carte blanche. That happened frequently at places such as Angelo's. No what surprised John was what he had said just before exiting the cab.  
"Sex does not interest me, John. Not normally." Not normally he had said. Did that mean that it suddenly did? John didn't get much of a chance to think about it because Sherlock had ushered him into the din of the club by a firm hand on the small of his back. Just before reaching the bar, Sherlock had leaned down and whispered in his ear. No not whispered. He actually purred the words out. Calling John 'Doctor'. That was something John enjoyed the women he was with to call him in the bedroom. Couple that with the deep chocolate dipped in honey voice and the visual of Sherlock's alabaster neck right next to his mouth, ripe for the licking, and a heat began to pool somewhere to the south of johns navel. He jerked back lightly and his little pink tongue darted out to wet his lips.  
“I'd like a whiskey and water, if thats ok.” 

John's reaction was rather curious, and he makes sure to make a mental note of it. But he doesn't question it, instead he closes his eyes, enjoying the thrum of the music. And how he ached for a stimulant or something like it. His eyes were frequently drawn to his flatmate, however, his clothing fit him well. Jumpers were wasted on him, especially hiding the powerful body underneath. John could pin him easily, he'd imagine, and he was a man of great experience. Pity his interests were only in women. But at the bar he orders their drinks, and he hands John his. "Anyone catch your eye yet? Or is it too soon to tell." He was scanning the crowd himself, as he sipped his vodka mix. The burn felt good down his throat and he makes a sound of satisfaction. Already he could spot a few dealers, and he felt the familiar itch. But... he can hold back, instead he tips the rest of his drink back, and orders another. "A rather good idea of yours, John. Just not as stimulating as I would like.”


	6. Chapter 6

John nearly choked on his drink when Sherlock breathed into his ear. "A rather good idea of yours, John. Just not as stimulating as I would like.” His voice was somehow lower than usual. John had to fight to keep his bearings as he slammed back the rest of his whiskey, waving away the other one the Sherlock had brought him. He was already having a hard time wrapping his mind around the feelings spreading through him and another drink may make it even more confusing.  
“Well I am going to dance. And as a matter of fact there are a few prospects out there I would like to feel out. Please behave. You promised. If you will excuse me.” The compact man brushed past his flatmate, noting his cocked eyebrow, and made his way out into the throng of pulsing bodies clogging the dance floor. He positioned himself near the center, knowing it was more likely that he would be able to attract a dance partner from this position. As the music thrummed around him, John began to lose himself in the movement and his own thoughts.  
Why the hell was Sherlock affecting him in this way? They had lived together for nearly 5 years now. Three of which, Sherlock had been believed to be dead. So I guess it was more like 2 though the other involved John living with Sherlock's ghost. His feelings had changed when Sherlock returned, though John had never had the urge to dig into them, for fear of what he may find out about himself. He couldn’t deny his attraction to the ethereal man that had saved him, body and soul. John was at one time as straight as they come. No denying that he had had drunken experiments in Uni, and the occasional make out session to relieve tension when he was in the service, but he had never been really attracted to any of the men he had been with. It had never been sex, just kissing and groping. He had never been interested in anything else. Women were his thing. But Sherlock was different. He had slithered his way into Johns mind, body, heart, and soul within 24 hours of meeting him. Sherlock had made his views on John's 'interest' ( the interest he didn’t know he even had) and relationships in general that first day. When the change in John came, he didn't know how to process it so he did the most British thing he could think of. He had a cuppa and ignored it. But seeing Sherlock in the crimson shirt and waistcoat tonight, acting, well normal, brought all those feelings back to the surface. John wanted nothing more than to forget this all right now and focus on the music.   
He closed his eyes and let the music sweep over him. The people around him swayed and jostled him, the occasional pinch or grope on his behind not all together welcome. His idea of finding a shag tonight was gone, he just wanted to feel alive, and wanted. The songs changed quite a few times until there was a slower paced song. Before he could head towards the bar, he felt someone slide up behind him, flush with his back. Johns pulse quickened as two strong, long fingered, pale hands snaked around to grip his hips, pulling his impossibly closer to the owner of the lanky frame. Johns mind was a frenzy of activity as a surge of desire shot through his body. He knew those hands. He knew that chest. He knew that smell. Yet he didn’t turn around, merely let the charade carry on as the body behind him set a slow, gyrating pace to the beat of the music. John let his head fall back onto the well-known chest, eyes closed once more, his body lost in the feelings.


	7. Chapter 7

"I promised." He agreed, tone low as he watched John move into the throng of dancers, a sick twist of his stomach causing him to wrinkle his nose in distaste. Oh, he knew this burn well, he felt it whenever John had a date, or stayed the night with a woman; the burn of jealousy. He hated, with much vehemence, every single woman who took John away from him. Upon their first meeting he had rebuffed the man's blatant attraction. He claimed marriage to his work, and at the time it were true. But over the years things changed, and during his three year absence his missing him turned into a longing, a longing in every way. The attraction and need was coming to a head, and after his second drink and watching his doctor getting fondled he decided to conduct an 'experiment' to see if John still harbored that same attraction all those years ago. Oh he noted a spark, but how far did that go? He had snuck up behind him, pressing John close. His own heart in his throat, the need pulsing through him. His lips ghosting along John's neck, so he can murmur into his ear; "Care to come home with me, Captain Watson?" Fingertips tracing a dog tag, before uttering a very earnest plea, "...please?"

"oh God Yes!" The words tumbled from Johns mouth as he continued the slow rhythm Sherlock had set. he reached his arms up behind him and gripped Sherlock by the back of his neck and pulled his head down to rest of his shoulder. John turned his head and swiped his tongue along the shell of the detectives ear, moaning softly as he did so. He felt Sherlock's hands rise up to circle his chest, the long fingers whispering across his nipples. One hand slipped around the dog tags and fingered them, a promise of what may come. He could feel Sherlocks hardness as he undulated against John. Heat was melting down to his own groin, eliciting a further moan from him. Reluctantly, he broke away from Sherlocks embrace to turn and face him. He noted that Sherlocks pupils were blown so wide with wonton lust, that there was barely a a hint of the grey/green that he normally drown in. Both of their breaths were coming in quick pants. He reached out and grabbed Sherlocks hand and twined his fingers through his. He pulled Sherlock towards him and pressed their foreheads together, a promise of more under the surface. John spoke low, his voice husky.  
"Was that stimulating enough for you, or do you need more data?"   
He stepped back and turned, not releasing Sherlocks hand, and began to lead him off the dance floor and towards the exit. As they emerged onto the street, he tugged him down and brushed his thin lips across Sherlocks supple ones, a ghost of a tremble surging through both men. He still did not release the younger mans hand as he slid back and flagged down a cab. Looking back, John was not surprised to see the want on Sherlocks face, but it thrilled him nonetheless. Thrilled him in a way that no encounter with any woman ever had.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock felt a heat surge through him, something he has never quite felt before, something only John has been able to elicit from him. He followed the man eagerly, threading their fingers together, his bold actions proved useful, and John had wanted him as badly as he did. He ached for another kiss, to feel his body, to indulge in this man he had so much fondness and affection for. Once in the cab he wet his lips anxiously, eager to get back to their flat. Sherlock makes sure to keep their hands intertwined. He, at least, had the discretion to not snog the doctor in the cab, "I must admit, I took a gamble. This is new for me, John. It may be the stimulation I need... But it's not just that, it's something I've harbored for awhile, I was just unsure on how to proceed- if I even should proceed." He was glad he took that shot, he really was. His heart beating hard in his chest, body tingling in anticipation. Sherlock pays the cab upon arrival, eagerly tugging John out of the cab, an eager fumble with the keys and they were inside; once up the steps and in the privacy of their flat, he's caressing the man's face, leaning in to kiss him again, desperate for it, for him.

Sherlock had kept very chaste in the cab. John was thrumming with energy and it took all of his willpower to refrain from ripping Sherlocks clothes off. He made due with running his free hand lightly up and down the inseam of the detectives leg from knee to thigh, purposefully avoiding going too high.  
"I'm glad you took the gamble." He remarked coquettishly. John looked up at Sherlock shyly through his eyelashes. As the cab pulled up to the kerb outside of 221b, Johns mind began to race. He had no idea how to really proceed with a man, with this man. Snogging was definitely in order, but where to go from there. John suddenly realize that he had not idea what kind or how much experience Sherlock actually had in this area. Did he have any? Was this as new to him as it was to John? He was divided on his opinion on the matter. On one hand he hoped Sherlock had some experience. It would make moving forward less confusing. Then again it may make John feel inadequate and self conscious about not being as good as others before him. On the other hand, he desperately wanted Sherlock to be a virgin. There was something about being someones first that made the whole encounter more special. It would be new to both of them. They would be on almost equal footing. Johns mind would not stop whirring as they climbed the stairs and stepped into the flat, shutting the door. Sherlock found a way to shut it off though by pressing his lips to Johns. At first John let Sherlock set the pace of the kiss, soft and gently, chaste. He brought his hands up, his right curling on the nape of his soon-to-be lovers neck the other tangling in his chestnut curls tugging his head back, causing the kiss to break, a groan of disappointment escaping the tall mans lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a piece of commissioned art work by thr wonderfully talented ivorylungs.  
> I will post it as soon as I can

"You are so beautiful, do you know that?" He whispered , his breath caressing Sherlocks lips lightly. He tugged the younger mans head done to devour his mouth, this time taking control. He let his tongue slide along Sherlocks upper lip, tracing the perfect cupids bow asking permission to proceed. As Sherlock parted his lips, John plunged his tongue into the wet heat of his mouth, wrestling with Sherlocks for control. He moved one of his hands down to the small of Sherlocks back and, applying just enough pressure, managed to steer them both back against the wall. He used his strength to hold Sherlock up, placing his thigh in between Sherlocks legs, feeling the heat and stiffness of his erection as Sherlock settled against it, rutting gently. Johns jeans were rubbing a tantalizing agony of friction as his own erection was imprisoned. He feared he would have a permanent indent from his zip if he didn't release it soon. He rocked forward slowly once to relieve the pressure, satisfied by the moan that he drew from deep within Sherlocks chest. He bit gently at the lower lip of the enigmatic man, pulling it out gently before releasing the kiss. He locked eyes with Sherlock, lust rolling off them both. He began harder, a feat he didn't think possible.  
"Where do you want to go, Sherlock? My place or yours?" 

Sherlock was acutely aware of everything John was doing, and the effect it had on him. Oh, Miss Adler stirred something in him, but it was more out of confusion and intrigue of her intellect than anything else. John stirred stronger reactions from him, a desire that could not be quenched or deleted. Keeping himself calm during the cab ride happened to be a test for his patience, but it was well worth the wait. Pinned against the wall, relinquishing control to John completely, and loving every second of it. His palms smoothing down his front, he could feel the definition of the man's body and christ... it made him incredibly and painfully hard. He groaned softly as he rubbed against John's thigh, Sherlock had no experience with intimacies but he was eager to learn, eager to start. Long fingers pushing through John's hair, a little annoyed at how the product in it felt against his hands, but next time John needed to go without. Next time... already he was thinking of a next time. Kissing him again, before he can bother to answer, with another slow rock of his hips. "Yours, John. I want you to have me in your bed." Nothing would please him more, actually. To lay in John's bed, to writhe naked in the man's sheets? The thought thrilled him, and the need made him feel intoxicated.


	10. Chapter 10

John feared that his groan would be heard across London. He was aching now and the sound of Sherlock's voice saying THOSE words flooded his senses. He couldn't wait to see Sherlock utterly debauched and writhing in pleasure under him. This was new to John. The thought of being inside a man...no not a man...inside Sherlock. Pale flesh flushed in arousal and pleasure. John hated to do it, but he stepped back, an arm wound around Sherlocks slim waist, keeping him from collapsing onto the floor at the loss of the anchor of Johns knee. Sherlocks gaze was lust personified when he fixed his eyes on the doctor.  
John grasped the thin mans wrist and started to lead him up the stairs. After they entered the room, he shut the door taking a moment with his hands splayed on the worn wood, head hung down, trying to catch breath and gather his thoughts. He was drawn out of his head by the feel of a slim hand slid down his back, reaching his waistband and slipping a finger under his t-shirt. He twisted around and grabbed Sherlock's wrist, placing the detectives hand over his heard while mirroring it with his own hand. He smiled as he reached up and cupped Sherlock's cheek, running a thumb over the plump bottom lip.   
"I think we are both a bit over dressed for this, don't you?" he asked, his voice breathily.

Sherlock has literally never felt like this before, and the need was driving him mad. He playfully, and gently, bites at John's thumb before placing and affectionate kiss against the tip. "I believe you might be right, doctor." Purred thickly before he's leaning in, fingers moving to slip under John's shirt, delighting in the abdomen muscles, shivering slightly in anticipation. "I would like you to keep your dog tags on, it would please me very much." He starts to tug John's shirt up, only hesitating a moment. "You don't mind if I undress you, yes? I've been wanting to most of this evening." He admitted as he leaned in to give a hungry kiss to John's lips as he slowly works the man's shirt off of him, his palms smoothing his palms down his bare chest with a soft groan. "John Watson, I desire you more than an interesting case." Which was quite the compliment, considering this was Sherlock - a Sherlock who has nearly gone three weeks without a case. But John had always been special to him, and this newly awakened desire was giving him more than the stimulants he required to soothe his tumultuous mind.

“Oh God.” John moaned as Sherlock slid his hands over the planes of his chest. He was panting heavily now, keeping time to his erratic heartbeat. As Sherlocks long fingers found the knot of scar tissue on his shoulder and traced it lightly, he brought his hands up to undo the buttons of Sherlocks waistcoat. His fingers deftly slipped the buttons from their prison and slid the garment off of his shoulders, groaning at the loss of skin on skin contact when Sherlock removed his hands to undo the cuffs of his shirt. He could feel the fingers exploring again. Nimble fingers finding this nipples and rolling them. This was the last straw. He need to see ALL of Sherlock. He needed to see it now. He pulled the hem of Sherlocks crimson shirt out of his trousers then, gripping it firmly, tugged, ripping it open with a feral growl and enough force to send buttons flying. Before Sherlock could even react, Johns mouth closed around one of his dusty nipples and he began to suckle, hands mapping out the angles of Sherlocks too thin frame. He could easily count all ribs and, when he slid his hands around to the back, his vertebrae as well. He switched to latch onto the other nipple, bringing his hands around to grasp at the thin mans hips, brushing his thumbs through the dark trail of hair leading down to unknown terrain. He unlatched and looked up at an utterly debauched Sherlock, his jaw slack, eyes blown wide, and stood up to be flush with him., locking gazes.  
“I want you out of those trousers.” It came out as a whispered command, his hand snaking down to the waistband, following the dark trail, and slipped two fingers underneath, pleased and not all too surprised to find nothing to hinder his explorations. “No pants I see. Very nice, on the bed right now.”


End file.
